


Shield of Tortall

by pallysuune



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Gen, Neal has a lot of feelings about duty, So do I, really rambly sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24665434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallysuune/pseuds/pallysuune
Summary: Neal visits the Hall of Crowns and muses on the history of Queenscove and how he fits into it.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Shield of Tortall

To say the Queenscove family was old was a bit of an understatement. 

They were written in the Book of Gold, which was begun when Tortall was established, before the Immortals were even banished to the Divine Realms. That book was begun in 795 AE by Newlin of Conte, the first king of Tortall. Most of the families in that book had died out over the years, or been destroyed, or been taken from power. There were only a few others still. Trebond, Haryse, Naxen… Even the Conte family, those who had ruled Tortall from the start, weren’t written down until the Book of Silver was started in 1 HE, two centuries _after_ the Book of Gold was begun. 

King Jonathan I of Conte began his reign around 150 HE. It was he who wrote the _Scroll of Salute,_ in which he named four houses as the ‘Shield of Tortall’, those respected and stalwart defenders who had earned that accolade. Queenscove was one of them. 

In the Hall of Crowns, the grand room used only for ceremonies and coronations, there was an engraving on one wall, naming the Knights who served the realm. The Great Roll of Knights was a monument to all those who had devoted their lives to the crown, to protecting its citizens. Twelve of those knights were from Queenscove. There was only one family with more. 

The Hall of Crowns was deserted when there was no coronation to be done. The windows were hung with heavy curtains that blocked out the light, but a few candles lit it up. It was hard to think that not so long ago, it had nearly been destroyed when Roger of Conte tried to stop the coronation of King Jonathan IV. Neal’s father had told him about the Coronation Day Battle when he was just a lad, but he’d never seen any of it for himself. By the time he was old enough to remember anything, the room had been fixed, the Great Roll repaired, and everything patched over as if it had never happened at all. If that wasn’t somehow a fitting allegory for their kingdom, he wasn’t sure what was. Neal remembered playing in that room as a boy. He’d grown up in Corus with his father, and had found the Hall of Crowns to be a perfect place to hide from his nanny or from his friends when playing. 

But he wasn’t playing that day. 

He stood before the great marble slab that the knights' names were carved in, a candle in one hand. His eyes lingered on two of them, nearer the bottom of the list than the top, newer in their carving, and each with a small shield carved beside them.

_Graeme of Queenscove._

_Cathal of Queenscove._

Cathal was only three years older than Neal. He’d just gotten his shield the same winter he died. Graeme was only two years older than that, still a fresh knight with no idea what he was facing. How could either of his brothers have been prepared for the Immortal War? How could anyone in the kingdom have been? Graeme was killed by Carthaki rebels. Cathal was cut down by a winged ape. They were among countless numbers of knights, soldiers, and civilians who lost their lives in that war. 

And now Neal was the last son of Queenscove. 

He’d been glad, once, to be the third son. He didn’t have to give in to the pressure of being the eldest. He could follow his own path instead of having to follow the beaten path laid out for the sons of noble families. He wanted to be a healer, like his father. He had been able to heal scrapes and cuts when he was still only a little boy. It was what he was _meant_ to do, he was sure of it. But there he was, the last son of Queenscove, one of those families who had such weight put on their shoulders. When was the last time there wasn’t a knight of Queenscove serving the realm? Never. Not since Tortall became a thing. Their honor was tied to their service to the crown. That honor fell on him now, weighed him down, and he found himself wondering if it had felt so heavy to his brothers before him. 

No one would have begrudged him if he stayed in the university and became a healer. He’d already been studying there for a few years now, and showed promise as both a scholar and a healer. His brothers had served the crown and gave their lives. No one would say Queenscove hadn’t done it’s duty. But he felt that niggling doubt in the back of his mind: was it enough? It would be the first time one of those four shield families wasn’t acting as a shield. 

Would he be a stain on his family’s history for not stepping up when he needed to?

There’d never _not_ been a knight of Queenscove at court. His grandfather was a great war hero, even. Though his father wasn’t a knight, his brother had been. And, beside, his father was chief of the palace healers, that was hardly a position to scoff at, knight or not. But he had grown up in a time of peace, too. He’d told Neal once that he would have been a knight, as the oldest son, if his healing Gift wasn’t so strong. He was more help to the kingdom as a healer than a knight, and there was no arguing that. 

It wasn’t a time of peace anymore, though. Knights were needed. And his father still headed the palace healers. His uncle and brothers had died, and for the first time in memory, there was no knight of Queenscove standing at the back of the throne. 

Regardless of what he thought as he stood there looking up at the names of his brothers, he’d already made his decision. He’d sent a formal withdrawal letter to the University that morning. In the fall, he would become a page. The thought of being in war, of spilling blood made him vaguely ill, but he’d learn. He’d cope. He’d already made up his mind and he wouldn’t back down now. 

There’d always be a knight of Queenscove in court.

**Author's Note:**

> I really like just doing kind of studies of minor characters. So, Neal gets the treatment this time. I hope you guys enjoy.


End file.
